A Brave New World
by RoseWeasley3
Summary: After being forced to work together and uncover the mystery of a powerful fairy-tale book, Draco and Hermione are sucked into a world parallel to their own. Will they play out the story in order to free themselves, or will their stubbornness keep them in there for good?


**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Convicted war criminal Draco Malfoy must aid Hermione Granger as she works to uncover the secrets of an enchanted fairytale book. But in close quarters and a parellel universe, how fast will things change from a fairytale to a nightmare?

Mature content and themes at times, and explicit language.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything... I wish I did, but I don't.

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**Chapter 1: The Hearing**

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He sat before the Wizengamot, bound in heavy iron chains to an ornately carved wooden chair in the centre of the room. To belittle the accused the iron chains were just for show; his real bindings were magical, restraining him from moving even an inch. He felt awkward sitting upright and exposed, though try with all his might he was not able to slouch down in the chair, as he would have liked to do in such a situation.

On a raised platform directly in front of him was the balcony, which held the prosecutor and to his right a jury of around fifty war-hardened men and women sat rigid and waiting for court to begin its session. He studied their heavy plum coloured robes, more out of boredom than curiosity, tracing the patterns of the elaborate silver "W" on the left-hand side of their chests with his eyes as he waited for the time to pass. He tried to ignore their stares and the flashes of morbid curiosity, but he could feel their eyes boring holes into his skull not unlike a white-hot poker might do if it was applied to his flesh.

His eyes travelled up to the ceiling of the chamber and for a moment he found himself wondering what the weather was like outside. Was it sunny and bright or grey and laced with dark clouds that threatened to burst and drench the town? The sun, the clouds, the sky, hell he'd give anything to feel the heat or the rain on his skin for just a second.

He screwed his eyes shut tightly and willed himself to think of anything but open air. He tried to suppress the longing and resign himself to the fact that he would never see the sky again if he was found guilty of war crimes against the wizarding community, but it felt like an impossible task. Was it possible to shut off the part of your brain that longed for something more then the dank insides of a windowless prison cell? He didn't know. He hardly knew anything anymore; seven months in Azkaban could do that to a person. He was lucky he had _any_ thoughts left in tact, let alone any sane questions and reasoning.

And despite the loss of sanity he was beginning to suffer in the grimy hellhole, he longed for the quiet solitude of his Azkaban cell. The filthy, damp cell had become a source of dependable refuge for him. He guessed it was about mealtime in the prison, when the guard stationed outside his lonely cell would bring him a ladle of sloppy, uncooked broth, and he would wolf it down, his hunger preventing any rational thoughts about the muck he was putting into his wasted stomach.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, savouring the smell of the musty courtroom, the first and last of the outside world he had experienced in such a long time, and tried to quell his rising impatience. As much as he dreaded the trip back to his dank cell, he couldn't say he was all too thrilled about the long unnecessary wait for members of his own hearing to show themselves.

His eyes wandered back to the ceiling of the chambers, but before a new train of thought could catch hold of him the sharp sound of wood connecting with wood rang out, causing him to flinch and draw his attention back to the room. The Minister for Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sat atop a throne-like chair on the platform, banging a gabble loudly on the podium in front of him to grab the collective attention of the room.

"The accused is present, all members of the Wizengamot are present and accounted for. Trial may begin."

Draco watched silently as the Minister stood up. "Prosecution hearing of the 18th of December 1998, into offences committed under the Decree for Protection of all Wizards and Witches Act, for the use of dark and/or prohibited magic by one Draco Lucius Malfoy, former resident of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England. Resides at present within the confines of Azkaban Prison." He spoke clearly, annunciating each word correctly so as not to confuse the court scribe as he hastily scribbled down each word.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Hermione Granger, Senior Officer of Magical Law Enforcement; Dennis Creevey, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Eloise Midgen. Witness for the defence-"

But nobody stepped up to the podium. The court waited in silence. Some held their breath for someone, anyone, to step forward, but nobody did. The room was eerily quiet, more so than it had been before the trial had even begun. Draco was sure that if he dropped a pin it would echo loud enough to shatter several windows and perhaps even crumble a wall.

"Witness for the defence, Harry James Potter," a strong voice behind Draco announced, immediately capturing the juries attention. Draco wouldn't have needed to hear the name to know whom the voice belonged to. He would know it anywhere. After all, he had spent six pitiful years of his life listening to it.

Potter came to stand beside him, his expression cool and calm as he studied the scene in front of him. Draco sneered. He didn't need Potters help; he didn't need anything from him at all. What he did need though, was for Potter to get as far away from him as possible.

There was a hushed flurry about the jury now, as if they didn't quite know what to do with themselves or how to proceed. Aside from the odd one or two jury members who sat quite still with bored expressions loitering on their aging faces, both his present situation and Potter's arrival were met with looks of disdain and poorly masked annoyance.

A knot of anxiety had risen in Draco's chest, but still he sat motionless, monitoring his expressions and his breathing so as not to let any members of the Wizengamot sense his surprise, unease, and barely disguised anger.

Raising his eyes to the prosecutor's podium Draco expected to see at least a flicker of surprise at Potter's arrival, but Shacklebolt remained impassive. _Odd_, Draco thought, _it was almost like he had been expecting it_.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat loudly and the juries restless fidgeting and muttering ceased and once again their attention was focused solely on the trial at hand. Shacklebolt lowered his eyes to the small stack of parchment in front of him and selected the top page, from which he began to read:

"The charges against Mr. Malfoy are as follows: 'That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions; practice, on several public occasions, dark magic, provide several Death Eaters with safe passage into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, perform two of three restricted Unforgivable Curses, harbour a fugitive within the confines of his home, hold captive and participate in the torture of two wizards, two witches, and a Gringotts goblin. The accused was also present during the torture and murder of Hogwarts Professor, Charity Burbage. These acts are constituted as an offence under Paragraph B of the Decree for Protection of all Wizards and Witches Act, 1875, and also under Section Two of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Stature of Secrecy.' "

Draco swallowed; the thin trail of salvia barely wetting his dry, constricted throat. He hadn't been expecting such a list, although in hindsight, he probably should have been prepared for them to draw up every little charge they could think of.

A chorus of disgruntled murmurs had erupted around the courtroom and Draco found it hard to focus his attention on any one particular comment. His head swam, his thoughts tangled, as though his brain was drowning in the slimy clutches of seaweed.

He watched as the Minister extricated a separate piece of paper from his pile and handed it to the bushy-haired woman next to him.

_Granger,_ Draco thought darkly as he watched her tuck an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and scan the paper quickly. _Of course the Mudblood's here, probably only too happy to assist the juries guilty verdict_.

"The council recognises Hermione Jean Granger, Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

Draco watched the Minister nod to the bushy haired woman as she stood up.

"You are Draco Lucius Malfoy, is this correct?" Granger's voice broke him out of his reverie and his head shot up so fast he almost cricked his neck.

Draco's mouth moved of it's own accord and before he could filter his words, he heard himself say, "That is correct."

Granger nodded silently, and he opened his mouth to say something more, but no words would come. His thought's were fine, all still there and in tact, yet his mouth refused to form the words and his vocal cords refused to choke out even the most pitiful of sounds. It was like being gagged from the inside out. He tried to raise his hand to his throat, but the spell that bound him to the chair was far too strong and he could do nought but move his fingers. But before proper panic could set in, Granger began speaking once again.

"Your previous residence was Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England?" she asked, although he was certain she already knew the answer.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but instead of the snide response his mind had been formulating, all that came out was a meek "yes."

"And you currently reside within the confines of Azkaban Prison, do you not?" Again he opened his mouth to reply with the world _obviously_, but instead he heard himself reply, "Yes I do."

He couldn't stop it. The words were pouring out of his mouth before he'd even had a chance to _think_ them.

He wasn't sure if this was real or not. Perhaps it was all happening inside his head. Perhaps the long months in Azkaban had gotten to him after all.

"You are now aware of the charges laid against you Mr. Malfoy, is there anything you would like to add?"

"Treason," he replied instantaneously.

A panic began to rise in Draco's chest. He had added treason to their list of punishable offences before he could stop himself. He had further incriminated himself without even having thought the word before it came out. Something was wrong; something was really, really wrong here and nobody else seemed to notice.

_I'm going mental_, he thought as he tried to twist within his bonds and move his arms. He wanted to signal that something was off beam, but he didn't know how. He opened his mouth to say something but it was like the words were stuck at the back of his throat unable to move towards his lips. Not a sound would come out.

Grangers' nails-on-a-chalkboard voice dragged him back to reality, "Although you raise a good point, given recent events, treason is no longer a punishable act under the current wizarding laws."

Draco's eyes snapped back up to the podium where she stood. There was something in her voice, a taunting tone of mockery, as though she found his involuntary self-confession amusing.

"Do you accept the charges laid against you, Mr Malfoy? Or can you provide evidence to support an alibi and provide a witness to account for your whereabouts when said events took place?"

_Yes. Yes I can_, Draco wanted to scream, _I can. Ask my mother. She knew where I was, she can testify. _But his attempts were futile. His mouth remained closed and any hope of swaying his predicament back in his favour was lost.

"Unfortunately we cannot provide any witnesses or an alibi," Potter said, stepping forward to answer for him. Draco clenched his teeth, his eyes burning holes into the back of Potters head at the unwelcome, and frankly unnecessary, aid.

No evidence? No alibi? Surely this was wrong, surely there was _someone_ present at the manor that would be willing to testify for him.

"No matter, we shall proceed without them," Granger replied. "If you cannot provide the court with sufficient evidence or an alibi, then we have no choice but to move forward to the declaration."

Draco's fought to keep his eyes from widening and his jaw from dropping as he took in the meaning of her words. They were skipping straight to the verdict. There would be no more questions, no more waiting. In a few moments, his fate would be decided.

The minister cut across his thoughts in a booming voice. "With charges taken into account, how do you plead, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco bit his tongue, refusing to utter another word. Yet not a second later he tasted the metallic tang of blood as his teeth scraped across his tastebuds in order for his lips to wrench themselves open and he found himself uttering the single most terrifying word he had ever heard; "Guilty."

There was a stunned silence in the courtroom. Not a single sound penetrated the silence; not a whisper or a cough, not a pin-drop or the sound of saliva being swallowed. Nothing but the hiss of breath escaping through teeth was audible.

Several witches and wizards shifted uncomfortably in their seats and he watched Grangers jaw drop in horror. Even the court scribe sat stunned, her pen unmoving and his plea unwritten.

This was sick. They couldn't do this. They couldn't force him to plead guilty. He opened his mouth to tell them it was all a misunderstanding and he hadn't meant to say anything but he knew the damage was done. The law prevented him from changing his plea, just like his mouth prevented him from spilling the foul list of profanities that he would have let fly in any normal circumstance.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat loudly and addressed the jury.

"And how does the jury find Mr Malfoy? Those in favour of conviction?"

Draco choked, his heart hammering painfully against his ribcage as his swollen heart constricted his air passages.

Several hands shot up into the air, followed by several others until more than half of the hands in the courtroom were raised. Draco wanted to count them, but before he could finish the minister asked another question.

"All in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?"

This time he was able to count clearly. Fourteen of fifty hands were raised and a sinking feeling of dread washed over him. Over half the jury had opted for a guilty verdict… on his request.

"Very well. Draco Lucius Malfoy, the court of magical law finds you guilty of all charges and hereby sentences you to life in prison without parole to be served in Azkaban."

Draco watched with blatant horror as the minister picked up the gabble and banged it down on the podium once more.

Two burly guards marched over to his chair, wands in hand, and he felt the weight of the invisible chains fall away as the spell was released. Before he could pull himself to, his slumped down in the chair and the two guards were forced to reach forward and grab him under each arm in order to haul him to his feet.

_No. No. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening_. "'No," he shouted, half expecting his words to be gagged. But they weren't.

"No. This is a mistake… you've got it wrong… you've got it… No…" He screamed, thrashing in the iron grip of the guards as they dragged him away from the chair.

" Get your hands off of me," he spat harshly, trying to wrestle his arms so he could land a well-placed punch with what little strength he had left.

As one of the guards moved to readjust his hold, Draco rammed his elbow backwards, feeling a jolt of pain run up his arm as the bone allied with the mans ribcage. Doubling backwards the guards grip slacked slightly and Draco yanked his arm from the mans grasp and swung it round to connect with the second guards ear in a motion that would surely dizzy the man enough to force him to release his hold.

Oblivious to the rest of the courtroom and silently applauding himself on having created the desired effect with his attack, Draco seized his chance to escape, knocking the second guard to ground and turning on his heel in a desperate attempt to run.

But before he had the chance to take a single step closer to freedom, a dull force connected with his shoulder blades, forcing them inwards with a pain that reminded of him of a bludger striking its target. Draco felt his knees buckle and his torso propel itself forward with an almost unnatural speed, and he had one more chance to wonder what was happening before his head connected with the marble floor and the courtroom faded to black.


End file.
